Batman: Attrition
by Faasnu Briinah
Summary: Charles Weyland is a man of interesting goals and relentless exploration. So what does it say about him if he picks Gotham to test his most recent discovery? Rated M for gore/violence/some foul language.


**Let me just start off first by saying that The Didacts' Shout is currently on a hiatus, thanks to the new semester here at college. The bright side is that I'm not dead! I recently have been getting back into Batman, even so far as wanting to write my own fanfiction about him. I have some more leeway in my schedule, so you can bet that I'll use that time to type up some chapters for your enjoyment.**

**So without further ado, here you go!**

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_Gotham City Docks, 0600 hours_

"You sure we lost the bat? He's not one to give up quite so easily", Joker stated.

Harley Quinn twirled her finger idly around one of her cowl's fluffy balls. "Sure did, Mistah J! I gave him what for with my trusty hamma!" Her eyes absolutely beamed with joy.

Joker rolled his eyes. He and his gang had been on the run ever since they began their major heist to steal away a prototype generator, made by none other than Wayne Enterprises. Who knew the rich boy was keeping some interesting toys in that little tower of his?

Not long after escaping the alarms of the Wayne building, He, his young and naive punching bag Harley, and a few other clowny goons recognized the winged silhouette soaring their way. Had it not been for Harley's quick thinking and ridiculous mallet, they would have been slammed into Arkham once again. Too many times the caped crusader had foiled his plans, always punching him back two steps. In the end, it wasn't a defeat, and that alone was enough to keep his unsettling grin going.

It was here now, that he and his gang moved about the docks, setting up cameras and traps in case anyone unaffiliated decided to invite themselves. It was when Joker climbed down the ladder, dusting his hands off when he heard one of his goons point out something.

"Boss, look!" He said, pointing a meaty finger towards Gotham's water. _Curses, the bat moves fast, doesn't he_. "Well? Grab a weapon? Might as well greet our guest!"

"Wait, Mistah J!" Harley called out, and then peered through her binoculars before turning back to him. "That's not the bat!"

"Well then? Who is it? Out with it, girl!" Enough was enough, more than anything the Joker wanted to get at least four hours of sleep in before he had to continue his plan.

"I dunno! Some guy with a big old _W_ on his coat." Harley squinted a bit harder through the lenses. "Oh boy, he's got some mean looking buddies."

It wasn't long before the approaching boat nearly rammed into the dock, stopping just short enough to drop an enormous ramp of steel. Joker raised an eyebrow at the approaching man. At first, it almost looked Commissioner Gordon. Then again, the GCPD weren't really the most dangerously equipped. Following suit were two masked guards, rifles white knuckle tight in their hands, fingers just above their triggers.

Their faces were hidden by matte black, angular masks that resembled something short Batman's own cowl. If Batman were to cover his face in a menacing helmet, that is. On their shoulders, he noted that they too bore a yellow _W _on their pauldrons.

"Good morning." The man greeted. His voice grave, even more so than the Bats'. "I don't believe we've met before. I'm Charles Weyland. You can call me Bishop, or Weyland if you're feeling formal." He held out his hand.

Joker, thinking of nothing else, shrugged and shook the man's hand. A strange vice to his grip strained the clown prince's glove. "Well well well, I must say, you sure know how to make an entrance, Weyland old boy." he said, massaging his palm. Harley stood to the side, watching the Weyland crew with heavy suspicion. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Here to make a deal? Wanting to take down that bat, hm? It's a common goal for most, you know."

Weyland chuckled, and Joker unconsciously followed. Some of his goons followed soon after, and even Harley laughed lightly. The Weyland guards didn't so much as flinch. As soon as it began however, the laughter was replaced by a dead silence. Weyland checked his watch, and nodded over his shoulder to no one in particular. Joker looked over his shoulder, watching a group of six men and women in full white hazmat suits carrying out a large metal container from the ship. It looked as big as small shack.

"Mind letting me know what that is? If it's a joke I've never heard of, I'd certainly like to hear it. Might come in handy." Joker crossed his arms, unsure.

Harley spoke up, "Uhh Mistah J, those white suits are going to our love nest. Should I stop 'em?"

"What?! Weyland, what is this?" Joker whirled around, took one step forward, and soon regretted it.

Weyland backtracked slightly, positioning himself behind his sentries as they clacked their rifles into action. The one closest whipped his rifle's stock straight up into the clown's chin, effectively rendering him inert and missing a few teeth. The second one opened fire on the legs of the standing goons before they even realized what had happened. Harley meanwhile, nearly screamed, but managed to scramble away and hide behind a few crates. Her heart was pounding, and her legs shook. The morning air suddenly didn't feel so good.

The gunfire had stopped, to her dread. Harley peeked over the crate, and gasped. The guards were patching up the wounds on the clownies, and Weyland knelt down towards her puddin'. "You know," he said as he patted down the clown's pockets, "I have something incredible in store for you and this city. Something no one has ever seen. Let me just finish by saying what a great pleasure it is to have you on the team." He stood up, and nodded to a Weyland employee tapping away on some pad.

Harley felt her eyes welling up as she was forced to silently watch those scary men drag away her love and goons. As soon as the warehouse's doors creaked shut, she made a dead run for her getaway bike. She swore as a bullet tore through one of the boxes just behind her.

"Female organic identified. IFF marked. Archiving for future reference."

That couldn't have been good. After a few more close calls and turning of her wrist, the bike roared to life and sped her into the city. Where could she have gone, anyway? Red was locked away in a cell in Arkham, and she was her only friend. Joker was clearly out of the picture, so there was no use going back, not with those rifle experts. Penguin? Oh right, he was still furious with her for ruining his ice club with Red and that lightning gal.

Turning into an alleyway and crying against the handlebars, Harley let it out. The bat could appear and take her away for all she cared. Or the Penguin, she just felt so lost without her pud-

"Bman! Duh! I've helped him before, maybe he can help me again!" The idea was so brilliant she could help but laugh, her tears now flowing free from joy. There was only one way she knew how to get his attention. After all, he never really ended up calling her after he gave her that dress. Thankfully, no one was awake just yet, since there didn't seem to be a soul in sight.

The jewelry shop. That was it. Perfect! Harley happily ran over to the large window, reached into her bike's duffle to pull out a handgun. It was a standard colt 45 western, easily loaded, and easily fired. She always favored it when she was in that rare killing mood. Aiming it away from her body and plugging her right ear, Harley squeezed the trigger, grinning and jumping up and down in joy. The sound of the alarm was music to her ears. She dusted off some glass from her shoulder, neatly placed her duffle bag on the sidewalk, and sat on it with one leg over the other, idly checking her makeup in a small compact mirror.


End file.
